Chance is a Fine Thing
by maroonraspberry
Summary: Another survivor is found in the prison and saved by Lancelot. But what will happen when she draws two of the knights attention, and things start to get out of hand? Next part of the story is 'The Fates Play Around'
1. Prologue

Chapter One; Changes

"Key?" Arthur asked one of the guards.

"It is locked," the guard replied, a worried look on his face, "from the inside." Arthur turned and nodded to Dagonet, who slammed his foot into the door repeatedly until it came away from its hinges and slammed into the ground. Lancelot got off his horse and drew a sword, walking forwards. Gawain nudged the two guards in the back, but when they didn't move, he yelled at them, "Move!" and pushed them more forcefully in the back to reiterate his point. They moved.

"Gawain," said Lancelot, handing Gawain a torch before descending the steps before Arthur. As they descended the steps, Latin chants floated up to them. As they entered, a priest wearing a brown woollen robe appeared. He looked at them in shock.

"Who are these defilers of the Lord's temple?" he asked. Lancelot moved forward and pushed the priest away from him.

"Out of the way," he told him sternly. The priest looked at Lancelot and then Arthur as they passed him. All around the prison, for that is what it was, were bodies of men and women, old and young, strung up by their arms or tied down in crevices dug into the wall. Lancelot looked back at Arthur with anger.

"The work of your God?" he asked. "Is this how he answers your prayers?" Arthur looked at Lancelot, not really listening. He turned to the other knights.

"See if there are any still alive," he told them. The knights immediately set about checking all the bodies to see if any were still alive. Lancelot took his sword to the nearest locked cell and broke the chains. As he was leaning down to check inside, another priest ran over and tried to stop him.

"How dare you set foot in this Holy Place!" he shouted. Lancelot turned and drove his sword into the man's stomach, and stood up, thrusting it deeper. He pulled the sword out and watched the man fall to the floor, dead. The other priest stepped forwards and pointed at the dead priest, giving Lancelot an accusing look.

"There, was a man of God," he told him, some triumph in his voice. Lancelot pointed his own finger at the man.

"Not my God!" he told him loudly. Dagonet lifted the lid to a well-shaped cell and stood back, arms across his face, trying to block the stench filling his nostrils.

"This one's dead," he said. Gawain looked around.

"By the smell, they're all dead." He moved forward and pointed his axe at the remaining priest. "And you, you even move, and you join him." Dagonet, lifting the lid of the other cell, called out, "Arthur," and lifted out a boy of no more than ten years, pale and unsure. Arthur went to another cell and looked in. Inside, a girl with red, sore eyes and a pale face stared back at him. Lancelot crouched next to Arthur and looked inside, and then a cough from behind him caught his attention. He turned to see another girl's face looking at him, ice-blue eyes staring out at him from a muddied face. He stood and walked over, then broke the chain holding her in. He kneeled down and grabbed the girl by the arm.

"Arthur, there's another," he said as he pulled her out…

"Water, give me water," Arthur said as he exited the prison and carried the first girl over to the snow-covered ground and lay her down on it. She clung to his arm and flinched as the sunlight entered her eyes for the first time in-she couldn't remember. Lancelot laid the other girl next to her, then stood back and let the Roman woman attend to her, and walked back to his horse.

"She's a Woad," Tristan said to the other knights, nodding towards the girl in Arthur's arms.

"What about the other one?" Bors asked. Tristan shrugged.

"Same, I suppose."

Suddenly, Marius pushed through the crowd shouting, "Stop what you are doing." Arthur stood, and the girls winced at hearing such loud sounds.

"What is this madness?" Arthur asked.

"They are all Pagans here," Marius said, gesturing wildly.

"So are we," said Galahad in a humourless voice. Marius continued.

"They have refused to do the task that God has set for them. They must die as an example."

"You mean that they refused to be your serfs!" Arthur yelled back. Marius looked at Arthur in shock.

"You are a Roman, you understand; and you are a Christian." The second girl lost consciousness momentarily and came back to hear,

"Perhaps I shall kill you now and seal my fate." before passing out completely.


	2. Not a Woad, not Stupid either

Chapter Two: Not a Woad, not Stupid either

Lancelot halted his horse next to Arthur's.

"We're moving too slow," he told him. "Those girls aren't going to make it and neither is the boy. The family we can protect but we're wasting our time with all these people."

"We're not leaving them," Arthur replied adamantly. Lancelot shook his head, wind blasting round him.

"If the Saxons find us we will have to fight." he told him.

"Then save your anger for them." Arthur replied. Lancelot looked at him, realisation dawning.

"Is this Rome's quest, or Arthur's?" Arthur looked at him, frowning, then looked away. Lancelot, irritated by Arthur's silence, turned his horse sharply round and cantered away.

Dagonet and the Roman woman were tending to the young Woad boy. Dagonet looked up as Arthur entered.

"Arthur!" he exclaimed.

"How is he?" Arthur asked. Dagonet looked down at his ward.

"He burns…Brave boy." Arthur moved round the group and went into the back of the wagon where the two girls were. The one Lancelot had found seemed to be asleep, though Arthur couldn't be sure. The other one, however, was staring at him with a vicious look. Arthur kneeled beside her. She shifted backwards, wary of him. Arthur took her hand which she was holding to her chest and took off the bands of fabric covering it. His face contorted a little when he saw her hand, broken and bruised.

"Some of your fingers are out of place," he told her. "I have to push them back." The girl seemed to understand him. "If I don't do this, there's a chance you may never be able to use them again." She sat up and braced herself for the pain. As the fingers cracked back into place, she let out a cry of pain, then another as the final joint went back into place. Behind them, the other girl opened her eyes suddenly. She hadn't been asleep after all, though they couldn't see her. She smiled a little seeing Guinevere's pained face. Arthur put an arm round the girl, unsure of what else to do. He was about to go once she had got over the shock, when she grabbed his armour and gazed into his eyes.

"He tortured me…with machines." Arthur listened with a passive face. The girl leaned her head against his breastplate and continued. "…And made me tell him things that I didn't know to begin with." She began crawling her way up his chest, looking deep into his eyes. "And then, I heard your voice in the dark…I'm Guinevere. You're Arthur, of the knights of the Great War?" Arthur, passive look still there, answered.

"I am."

"The famous Briton who kills his own people," Guinevere observed, then her eyes flickered, and she fell out of consciousness. Arthur gently laid her back onto the mound of blankets and turned to see the girl Lancelot had saved staring at him from behind ice-blue eyes and a mass of dirty ash-blonde hair that fell down over her shoulders and most of her chest in large ringlets.

"And who are you?" he asked her. The girl was matching Arthur's passive face glance for glance.

"My name is Iseult," she replied after a time in a purring voice. Arthur was a little taken aback. She looked younger than Guinevere, yet her voice sounded much older. Arthur inclined his head towards Guinevere as he addressed Iseult.

"Are you of the Woad tribe?" he asked her. Iseult snorted and smiled, shaking her head.

"No, no, I'm not Woad," she answered. Arthur was intrigued, but he knew the girl would be tired and he didn't want to press her unnecessarily. He nodded towards her left hand, un-bandaged but broken like Guinevere's.

"Are you injured?" he enquired. Iseult looked at her hand and the out-of-place fingers.

"They did _this _because I'm left-handed…The Devil's child, never mind the fact I'm Pagan." She looked up at Arthur and smiled, a little sourly, Arthur observed. "I'm fine, thank-you," she told him before cracking her own fingers into place without an inkling of discomfort showing on her face. Arthur looked at her, a little unnerved, before leaving the wagon.

Later, Arthur and Lancelot were riding side by side. Lancelot looked behind him to the wagon where Guinevere and Iseult were leaning, looking out across the wilderness. Arthur caught him looking at them and Lancelot kicked his horse forwards. As Arthur held back his horse so the wagon came alongside him, Iseult shut her eyes and listened to the conversation between Arthur and Guinevere. She hadn't figured things out in her mind yet, she didn't want to be talked to just yet, but her eyes flicked open as Guinevere asked of Arthur,

"Where do you belong?" Iseult's eyes welled up with tears suddenly, remembering, but luckily Guinevere and Arthur were more interested in each other. Arthur looked back at Guinevere.

"How's your hand?" he asked. Guinevere smiled a coquettish smile.

"I'll live, I promise you." Iseult smiled, the tears fast disappearing, and shook her head.

The convoy stopped, and Arthur and Lancelot rode up to the front.

"We'll sleep here. Take shelter in those trees," Arthur said, pointing towards a wood far ahead. "Tristan." he added. Tristan looked at his hawk.

"You want to go out again? Yeah," and he let her fly off into the blizzard. All the knights rode off to do their duties, apart from Lancelot, who stayed looking out over the snow-covered valley, his back to the wagon where Guinevere was looking out as well. She spoke up.

"It is a beautiful country, is it not?" Guinevere asked him. Lancelot looked round, wondering if it was he who was being addressed. He raised an eyebrow at her.

"If you say so," he replied.

"And where do you come from that compares?" she questioned again, then answered it herself as Lancelot wheeled his horse around to face her. "The Black Sea?" Lancelot didn't answer. Guinevere carried on pushing. "This is Heaven for me." Lancelot finally answered.

"I don't believe in Heaven…I've been living in this Hell." He smiled and leaned forwards. "But if you represent what Heaven is, then take me there." A chuckle broke the moment that had just been created. Lancelot cocked his head and moved his horse forwards a few paces to see the girl he had found in the prison grinning away while she was leaning against the opposite side of the wagon to Guinevere.

"Is there something you find amusing?" he asked her. The girl looked up at him with no fear at all. Not the defiance that Guinevere showed, but pure courage. She raised an eyebrow and looked him up and down from underneath the pile of furs she was under.

"Just the way you talk. I've heard _many_ men talk the way you do…and most of them _Roman_." Lancelot glared at her. Iseult ignored it and stared straight into his eyes with her cold blue ones, which began to unnerve him. "But perhaps there's something else in that head of yours, something less cold," she told him, sighing a little, her breath freezing as a cloud. Lancelot's face didn't change. Iseult broke her gaze and smiled to herself, snuggling more under her furs. Guinevere gave her an indiscernible look. Lancelot looked up as water of varying forms fell on his face. He relished the feeling for a moment, then looked back to the girls.

"Rain and snow together…A bad Omen," he told them, flashing his eyes dangerously


	3. Diamond in the Rough

Chapter Three: Diamond in the Rough

Lancelot was absent-mindedly walking around the camp before he went to bed, taking a last look round to put his mind at rest. He stopped next tothe wagon where the Roman family, Guinevere and Iseult were. He looked through the translucent curtain covering one side of the wagon with a nonchalent glance, but what he saw held his gaze. Guinevere was bent over a bowl of water, the Roman woman behind her washing her back. Lancelot watched as the water shimmered on her back. A glint of metal to her left caught his attention, and his eyes were drawn to the neck of Iseult, kneeling next to her. She wore a thick band of silver and bronze round her neck and herash blonde hair fell over her shoulders in three or four long ringlets as she leant over the bowl of water, dousing her neck with it. Suddenly, Guinevere looked up and stared at Lancelot with an even, calm face. Lancelot stared back for a moment then looked quickly away, unsure of what to do momentarily. He looked to the side and then turned and walked away to his tree. Iseult, unnoticed by either of them, watched as Lancelot moved away and smiled, thinking to herself, then her attention moved back to the bowl of water.

Lancelot watched as Guinevere walked into the darkness, followed by Arthur, and sighed. His earlier conversation with her saddened him, but it was true. He would have left her in the prison, along with Iseult, attracted as he was to both of them. But Guinevere was clearly infatuated with Arthur-power and all that- and Iseult…Iseult he couldn't quite read. She kept herself to herself, but always wore this knowing look. Like she had seen so much of the world but had no need to tell anyone about it. Or she had some deep, dark secret buried under those sharp blue eyes of hers. She reminded him of Tristan in a funny sort of way.

He shifted uncomfortably against the tree he was leaning against, and moved his head to the side andstarted as he saw Iseult moving in his direction, as silent as the wood around him. He was shocked at how she'd changed since he had last seen her in the wagon. She no longer looked like the wild thing he had found huddled in the corner of a dark, damp-ridden cell. Her hair was loose and flowing over her shoulders in loose, light blonde waves. Her skin, washed and stripped of the layers of dirt, glowed with an ethereal light as the moon reflected off her. She was wearing a flowing dress made out of fine-woven wool in a dark blue, with edging in ablacker shade, the neckline sloping into a deep v-shape. Lancelot was entranced by her. Her chestwas pale, yet seemed to glow under the light from the fires everyone surrounding them had lit.She caught him staring at her and switched direction andwalked towards him, a coy smile dancing across her face. She stopped a few feet away, and glanced for a couple of moments in the direction Guinevere and Arthur had gone, and then looked back to Lancelot.

"Infatuated, aren't you?" she asked, her voice floating on the still night air.Lancelot, not concentrating,wonderedif she was talking about Guinevere or herself. Whichever one she was talking about, the answer was the same.

"I suppose so." Iseult grinned a little and then sat down next to him against the tree. Lancelot's face showed a wry smile, thinking of how tough this girl seemed. She looked so beautiful tonight and yet, she gave the impression that she didn't care at all what she looked like. There had to be somesensitive part of her, he thought to himself.The twostayed silent for a while, and Iseult wondered if Lancelot had fallen asleep, when he spoke.

"We know so little about you," he started.

"True,"Iseult said.

"And yet I still saved you, knowing nothing about you, except that you were probably a Woad."

"Yes, _you_ did," Iseult replied. "Not that you wanted to.It's obvious that youwanted to leave us there." Lancelot looked up sharply, wondering if Iseult had been listening to his conversation with Guinevere. Iseult must have read his face, for she answered, "You give off that impression every time that one of us even looks at you." Lancelot's face relaxed, but only a little, for he was slightly ashamed that he had let his true feelings be shown. He decided to ask herone of thequestions about herthat had been annoying him for some time.

"Where do you fit in, in all of this? What are you?" he questioned. "You don't look like a Woad, and I've seenenough of them in my lifetime." Iseult was silent for a moment, and couldn't look at Lancelot, but then she realised that she would be giving it away if she ddn't give him an answer. Finally she spoke.

"I'm like Arthur. I don't fit in, I don't belong." she turned her head to look at Lancelot with a look of sadness. "You have your home, even if you aren't there right now. I am forever separate, split in two."

"I don't have my home. We grew apart a long time ago." Iseult looked at him, shocked.

"But of course you do!" Lancelot frowned. She leant forward closer towards him and clasped his hand in hers, pulling it to his chest and holding it there, so both could feel his heartbeat. "Your home is here. It will always be here. No-one can take that away from you. Not the Romans, not Britain, nor any sword. Suddenly realising what she had just done, she dropped his hand and leant back against the tree again, cursing herself silently for being so forward. In that moment Lancelot figured out her weakness. The weakness of a thousand other women that she until now had kept under wraps. He stared at her, then took her hand in his, and held it against her own chest. Iseult looked at Lancelot, wondering. Their faces were so close, Lancelot could positively smell her.

"Then surely your true home is here too?" he asked quietly . Iseult looked at him with searching eyes again, then, realising that her had worked out her secret, crossed the finalhalf-inchand kissed him softly, lingering. She pulled away slightly and smiled as she asked, "Still infatuated?" Lancelot smiled, thenchuckled quietly and pulled her towards him and kissed her passionately. Iseult kissed him back and bit his lower lip gently, looking deep into his eyes.Iseult looked quicklyaround her, checking to see if anyone was nearby. All the other knights had chosenplaces to rest that were out of sight of them, behind the tree.Lancelot stilled her fearsby pulling her towards him and enveloping her with his arms. Iseult slid next to himonto the ground next to the tree andbegan loosening his britches.Then he climbed slowly on top of her. Her hair was spread out around her like one of the halos in the paintings of Arthur's God. As he leaned in and kissed her. Her hands spread out over his back as his hand ran down her dress, then up again, revealing first her calf, then her thigh. He switched to the other hand, doing the same. Iseult's hands left Lancelot's back and took the hem of her dress and pulled it over her head. Her hands slipped down Lancelot's back again and then she slowly slipped off his britches. Lancelot slipped into her and she gasped quietly, her nails digging in slightly. He kissed her for a while, then slowly began to thrust. The wood around them was silent and still. Both kept looking into each other's eyes, and as Lancelot began to thrust harder and deeper, Iseult moved her hands to his face to keep eye-contact as they both came, Iseult first, her sudden cry and gasp, making him thrust faster and come seconds later. He kissed her gently, as she lay there, weak beneath him. Weak, for the first time since he'd rescued her. After a moment he pulled his britches back up and pulled the rug and Iseult's cloak over them both. Iseult lay her head on Lancelot's chest, and hearing his steady breathing as he gradually fell asleep, smiled a little to herself.

Iseult turned to Lancelot and watched him for a while as he slept contentedly; soft warm breaths flowing over her face. She gently extricated herself from his arms and stood up, cloak wrapped round her. She slipped on her dress, thankful that the winds had changed a little earlier that evening. She gently placed therug round Lancelot's body and walked away quietly, not making a sound as her feet flowed across the floor of the leaf and snow-spattered floor. She lay awake for hours once she had returned to the wagon, thinking, finally falling asleep a few hours before dawn.

She was woken the next morning by alarmed shouts. She quickly got up and leapt out of the wagon with weapon in hand, straight into the path of Lancelot. She glanced at him and then moved to the other side of him, next to Guinevere, who had a bow and arrow ready to fire. Lancelot looked sideways at Iseult, then Guinevere.

"Your hand seems to be better," he told her, smiling, and faced back to the scene unfolding before them.


	4. The truth is Revealed

Chapter Four: The Truth is revealed

"Does it all count for nothing?" Lancelot exclaimed to Arthur. Arthur looked Lancelot in the eyes, angry.  
"You ask me this? You who know me best of all?" Lancelot carried on regardless.

"Then do not do this! Only certain death awaits you here Arthur! I beg you for our friendships sake, I beg you," he pleaded. Arthur sighed and put his hands on both sides of Lancelot's face.  
"Then be my friend now and don't dissuade me. Seize the freedom you have earned and live it for the both of us. I cannot follow you Lancelot!" He exclaimed before walking off.  
Lancelot turned away from Arthur's fast disappearing figure and looked at Guinevere, who was staring resolutely at him, a crowd forming behind her, wondering what to do now. Iseult melted into the crowd, not wanting to see the looks exchanged between those two. She slipped over the wall, tying her skirts round her knees. She stole quietly past the Saxon watch and climbed into a large tree and sat very still for an hour, watching and listening, and remembering, then sighed and nodded. When she had seen all that she needed to see, she leapt silently to the ground and moved back past the Saxons unnoticed for the second time then traversed the great wall with some difficulty. Out of practice too long, she thought to herself as she climbed over the other side. When she straightened, Tristan was standing before her, apple and knife in hand, slowly cutting chunks off and putting them between his lips. Iseult froze, then quickly let her skirts loose and brushed some half-dried mud from her sleeves. Tristan eyed her for a moment, and then spoke.

"Pity you're ruining that dress. Have a good time?" he asked. Iseult narrowed her eyes. "I take it you saw all you needed to see out there," he said, glancing out at the Saxon fires lighting up the field. Iseult stuck her chin out in defiance. How dare he, she thought, then scolded herself for doing so. She wondered why.

"Yes," she answered curtly, then walked past him, flinching as their sleeves brushed against each other, and walked down the steps. Tristan smiled, let out a small chuckle as he shook his head, and carried on eating his apple.

On her way back to the stable (where she had indignantly decided to stay after having being forced to sleep in the Roman wagon) she came across Lancelot stalking the courtyard, fury and confusion etched across his face. Iseult kept back into the shadows and watched for a while until Lancelot had begun his third pacing around the courtyard. She appeared out of the shadows and stood in front of him.

"What is it? What's wrong?" she asked him, quietly. Lancelot scowled and let a rush of air out of his lungs. Iseult raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

"It's Arthur," he said eventually, waving an arm in the general direction of Arthur's sleeping quarters. Iseult wondered for a moment if Guinevere was in there with him. Probably. Lancelot carried on. "I can't understand why he is doing this. I see no reason for it." He stormed past her, resuming his pacing. Iseult turned, watching his back heaving with frustration.

"It's not for you to understand. Arthur has his reasons and has made his choice. You must respect that." Lancelot wheeled on her.

"He is my oldest friend. I have listened and understood him for 15 years of my life but now..." He shook his head, then resumed with vigour. "He is sentencing himself to death by taking this…this _mission _upon himself."

"At least he knows that, and has come to terms with his decision. Now it is your turn. Not even you will be able to change his mind now, Lancelot. No-one can." Lancelot looked at her fiercely, breathing heavily. "You have the freedom to go home now, Lancelot. Don't waste this opportunity to see those oceans of green again. And your family too, Lancelot, think of them. You will be able to forget this life and start a family of your own. You don't have to cherish home in your heart anymore, it will be all around you."

"Home is the least important thing in my heart at the moment, Iseult. I cannot live the freedom meant for 2 men. And you," he asked, moving towards her, an intense look on his face. "What will you do tomorrow?" He stared at her, searching her eyes as if he was to find and answer coming from them instead of her mouth. Iseult straightened.

"You forget that I do not belong anywhere," she said. "I will do whatever is asked of me."

"Exactly. 15 years I have served others, and now I must live my own life, yet Arthur wishes to continue for no reason other than…its insanity!" He yelled the last sentence, stunning Iseult into silence as she realised what this was all about. Her face levelled and she took at step back, head held high, eyes glistening in the torch light all around them.

"He has found a new reason for living, Lancelot. Be it his own mind or _Guinevere's _that has influenced him into doing it. Don't smart because she chose him over you. I chose you, remember…Or was I just another conquest?" she spat the last sentence out and stormed away to the stables as realisation flooded into Lancelot's face and he walked slowly away to his room, cursing himself for his behaviour and quick temper.


	5. A Different Way

Chapter Five: A Different Way

Iseult flopped onto the pile of straw kept in the corner of the stable and lay there for some time, until the dead of night had enveloped the wall. Fully awake and bitterly cold, her mind buzzing with questions and thoughts, she got up and walked back into the courtyard. Her mind not tuned to her surroundings, she jumped when Tristan walked out of the shadows to her left. She held a hand to her chest, steadying her breathing and glared at him for a moment before moving off again.

"I wish you'd stop stalking me," she said as she moved off.

"I wouldn't worry about him," he drawled. She paused in her step.

"Oh?" she replied. He smiled and shook his head.

"Too passionate." He paused and walked round to the front of her. "I don't know why you went for him. Iseult widened her eyes.

"Pardon?"

"Sleeping with Lancelot-I don't see why you did it." Iseult stared, then half- raised her arms and turned from Tristan, making an 'Urgh!' sound. She walked a few paces and then shivered suddenly, rubbing her arms. Tristan watched her, thought, then spoke.

"You're cold." Iseult rolled her eyes.

"Really?" she asked, exasperated, and then rubbed her arms again involuntarily.

"See?" he said, smiling. "Come inside, there's a fire in my room." Iseult turned towards him and he beckoned towards a passageway. Iseult considered throwing an obvious remark at him, but she was getting too cold, she decided, and followed him into the passageway and his room.

She settled by the fire, hands taking in the heat. Tristan sat on the bed behind her and watched her in silence for half and hour until she was warm.

"Why though," he asked. Iseult looked at him, then turned away.

"I don't have to answer that," she said. There was a moment's pause. "I don't know, there's something about him…I can't place my finger on it."

"Perhaps your fingernails, or did his skin not hold the answer either?"

"You were watching? That is sick!"

"I couldn't believe it was you-that was all. Just making sure." Iseult stood up suddenly. Tristan looked at her from under his dark locks with an expressionless face. She blushed suddenly and turned her face away, angry tears streaming down her face. She hastily brushed them away and took in a sharp breath and turned back to face him.

"Goodbye," she said. She moved towards the door. Tristan got up suddenly and blocked her path.

"What?" she asked, trying to get past but failing.

"You," he said. "You're attracted to me."

"Excuse me?"

"Lancelot's not the only one you're attracted to, is he? He's just a bit on the side. What are you going to do-work your way through the lot of us?" Iseult stared back at Tristan in shock, unsure of what to say, completely confused. Tristan moved forwards and Iseult slapped him hard across the jaw. Tristan put a hand to his mouth and a smear of blood came away. Iseult looked shocked. Tristan smiled and moved forwards again.

"Told you; you were worried then." Iseult pushed him away.

"No I was not," she said loudly and indignantly, but thoroughly unconvincingly. Tristan grabbed both her arms and pushed her against the wall next to the door and kissed her as he held her arms on either side, pinning her. She resisted at first, but then relented and kissed him back. When he was sure that she wasn't going to run, he let go of her arms. One of his hands strayed to the neckline of her dress, then he hooked his finger at the 'V' and ripped the front of the dress down. Hooks unlocked all the way down the front of her dress and Iseult looked at him, shocked. He smiled and kissed her on the neck, slipping her dress off. It fell to the floor in one movement. Iseult pulled his woollen shirt over his head and threw it into the corner. Tristan pulled her away from the wall and closer to him, pulling at her lips and kissing her face, then he quickly took off his trousers and turning her round, pushed her onto the bed.

Iseult was unsure of the rest of the details, it was all such a blur; hands everywhere, lips touching and tasting, pain and pleasure all rolled into one. Tristan memorised everything, however, as was his way. The feel of her cool skin, her warm breath on his neck as he entered her, the tensing of her muscles in her stomach against his own, her gasps and the times she cried out; so much emotion. All these things worked their way inside Tristan's mind and lodged themselves there, unmoveable. He caught the scent of her hair, a strange mix of hay and honey. As his tongue flicked over her skin, he tasted the same subtle mix. Iseult buried her hand in his dark hair as he kissed her face again.

She did remember this; a light in his eyes she hadn't seen before-or hadn't wanted to when she had been denying her feelings for him. She savoured it, captured it, and stored it in her mind. It could just be the way he was with women, she told herself, but she didn't think so.

Tristan adjusted so that he could be deeper inside her. As his thrusts deepened, Iseult moved her hands to the bars of the bed. He came first, pausing for a moment, (The light in his eyes, stronger, Iseult observed) then he moved again until she came with a cry that Tristan silenced with a finger on her lips, then a lingering kiss. He rolled off her and onto his back and let out a contented sigh. Iseult smiled a relaxed smile, then looked at him. He stretched out his arm towards her and she wriggled up to lay her head on his chest. His arms wrapped tight round her, holding her there, and a few minutes later, his breathing became heavier and Iseult knew that he had fallen asleep. Soon after, she did too, thought she pondered for a while on how strangely satisfying it was when men fell asleep after something like that. Completely knackered, she thought, and smiled again to herself as she shut her eyes and let sleep take hold for a few minutes.

Eventually, she wriggled free of his grasp and slipped on her dress, fastened it properly, opened the door and walked out into the corridor. She closed the door quietly behind her, adjusted her skirts and walked along the corridor in the direction of the stables. When she was a few feet away from the door, a figure darkened her path suddenly. Iseult looked up with a gasp, afraid of who would catch her-praying to the Gods that it wasn't Lancelot. To her relief, it wasn't. The figure standing before her was much taller and broader, wearing a light linen shirt. Still Iseult stood, frozen like a cornered rabbit, still uncertain.

"What are you doing up so late? Walking around the corridors like a ghost. You should be careful; people will start calling you a devil next." Relief swelled and filled Iseult and regained her composure-passive look, chin raised slightly.

"I could ask what you are doing wandering about the fort yourself, Arthur," she replied, a mischievous look flashing in her eyes. Arthur moved further into the corridor and into the torchlight. Shadows flickered across his hard-worn face, abruptly halted by his razor cheekbones so that only half of his face was illuminated by the orange glow of the torches. Iseult again felt fear and awe as Arthur stared into her, but hurriedly pushed those feelings deep into the darkest part of her. Such emotions she would not reveal to any man of Arthur's rank-they were very observant creatures, these Romans, and to be half-Briton as well; favoured indeed by the Gods when it came to reading people's emotions and playing on them.

"I heard a strange noise," Arthur said, watching her face intently behind the mask of indifference.

"Oh?" said Iseult, reading and mirroring his look. "I thought so too, that's why I was 'wandering about.'" A slight smile crossed Arthur's face. Whether he had looked right through her guise or not she couldn't be certain. He may have been standing outside the whole time she was in there with Tristan…Iseult didn't want to think about that. A minutes silence passed, then there was a weary sigh from Arthur.

"Walk with me," he commanded, walking out into the moonlight. Iseult followed, unquestioning. She walked just behind him for a few minutes, giving Arthur space, not really wanting to engage in a conversation with him- she was too tired- but it was clear that all Arthur was really interested in was talking. She pitied him, but empathised with him on a certain level, too. Memories of her mother flooded back and filled her mind, so that it took a moment before she realised that Arthur had addressed her. She dragged herself out of the mire of memories and placed herself firmly in the present.

"Sorry?" Arthur lowered his head and looked back at her.

"How do you feel about what's happening?" Iseult cocked her head and frowned slightly.

"The Saxons?" Arthur gave a curt nod of his head. Iseult thought for a moment. "Difficult," she replied, "but not impossible," she finished with conviction. Arthur smiled involuntarily. The tenacity and resolve of this girl was remarkable for one so young. Iseult continued, in her element. "You have support of one of the strongest tribes in these lands. They are willing to follow you into a potentially suicidal battle, receive your commands and _obey _them. They have knowledge of the land and its resources. The Saxons…" she paused. "The Saxons have brute strength of numbers and force with them. Their leader only cares for the prize at the end of the battle, and he doesn't mind sacrificing his men to get there." She looked away for a moment. "If only other tribes would be so willing to join together in battle." Arthur looked at her and frowned. "You know of other tribes?" Iseult nodded.

"Many. But further south than where we are-the Iceni for one." Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Those tribes are in conflict with each other constantly, never mind Rome," he told her. Iseult nodded, a pained expression in her eyes. Arthur persisted. "You want unity?"

"Of a sort," she replied shortly. Arthur needed to know.

"You are of the Iceni bloodline?" he asked. Iseult looked at him, questioning his motives. She answered after a time, hesitant.

"My mother is-was…I am not like you, Arthur. I am not half _Roman." _She emphasised the 'Roman' part involuntarily, as though it were a thing to be ashamed of. Arthur flinched on the inside, but he was used to such insults now. "No," Iseult carried on. "I am worse than that." She sighed and fixed Arthur with a stare before asking, "You notice I have neither the skin nor features of a Roman?" Arthur nodded.

"No…If I am…you have the look of a-"

"Of a what?" Iseult quizzed, knowing his thoughts. Arthur fixed her with a stern look and told her.

"You have the look of a Saxon about you." Iseult smiled and nodded.

"A Saxon, yes. Well, I would. My father was one." Arthur stopped and faced her square on.

"A Saxon?" he repeated. Iseult knew she did not need to answer that and walked on. She couldn't quite believe she had just said that-and to Arthur of all people. Mind you, to tell Lancelot or Tristan, or any of the other knights would be worse-suicide. At least Arthur had a more understanding persona. She hoped.

A hand caught her on the shoulder and swung her round.

"You are Saxon?" Arthur asked again, dumbfounded.

"Half," she corrected. "I am not a true Saxon and I never wish to be. Don't ever label me as such," she commanded a fire in her eyes. Arthur immediately stopped looking shocked and returned to his composed look. Iseult felt she should explain all to him. She sat on a nearby water trough and started.

"Years ago, my mother-the daughter of the then ill Iceni tribe leader and next in line to lead the tribe- had to prevent a Saxon incursion into their territory. She arranged a meeting with their leader on neutral territory; on a hill overlooking the lands of Britain. They spent many days talking about the war between them. After they had worked out their differences, they found they had much in common and…My father and the army left a few days afterwards and my mother returned to the tribe. 9 months later, I was born. It didn't take too much to work out what I was the result of." She looked at Arthur, who was listening intently. "My mother was sent word that a few months after my father had left Britain, he was killed for failing to fulfil his mission and for fraternising with the natives. His own brother killed him and took over the army. The leader of the Saxon army outside is my father's brother-my uncle."

"How do you know this?" Arthur asked; keen to know if she might be lying. Iseult looked at the floor.

"I had my suspicions, so I slipped over the wall earlier and sat in the tree above the army. I saw him, and I know his face. Same as my father's-how my mother described him to me-but with evil mixed in to the very core." Arthur nodded, weighing up her words.

"In that case you will have your own battle tomorrow, then?" he enquired. Iseult shrugged and raised an eyebrow in nonchalance.

"Perhaps, if the Gods will it. I fight tomorrow for this land, and the people that I love. You fight for the same, though I hardly know why," she said, not comprehending his feelings. "How the battle will fare, no-one knows. I just wish that the knights weren't leaving. We do need them"

"We have already lost one knight on a foolish errand on Rome's command so that they could gain their freedom. A true knight. They don't want or need to fight a battle not their own just for my sake. Or, for a couple: yours," he finished, eyeing Iseult. She sighed, realising that Arthur knew.

"I must rest now." She stood and walked away from Arthur. "Goodnight."


	6. The things u do for the people you love

Chapter Six: The Things you do for the people you love

Iseult saw Tristan fall to his knees as her Uncle delivered another blow to his chest. He began to walk forwards to retrieve Tristan's sword which had fallen from his hand. Iseult could not let this happen. She took up a bloodcurdling yell which could hardly be heard amongst all the other cries on the battlefield and ran towards the figures. As her Uncle raised the sword, she connected sidelong with his chest, toppling him over. He got himself up quickly. Iseult stood in front of Tristan who was looking into the sky at his hawk, shielding him. The Saxon turned to face the insolent being that had prevented him from hitting at Arthur where it hurt the most. He was a little startled to see the girl standing in front of him, eyes wild and glaring, half-crouched. She smiled and hissed. He stood, unsure of this creature standing before him.

"Well, come on, Uncle-fight! You know you'd much prefer to kill the bastard daughter of your brother than a half-dead knight." She heard Tristan echo the word 'brother' behind her, and ignored it. Such things could be dealt with later. The Saxon was still staring at her, head cocked to one side as he understood who she was, and growled low in his chest. Then, suddenly, he flew at her, yelling. Iseult jumped back and cut a blow to his side, then ducked as he dealt a backhand, but missed the kick to the gut and fell back, winded, clutching her stomach and gasping for breath.

Arthur looked up and round after killing the stinking Saxon that had, moments before, been laying blow upon blow on him. As he was looking round, he saw the Saxon leader slam the butt of his sword into Iseult's stomach, sending her falling backwards into the mud next to Tristan. The Saxon moved forwards, and Arthur ran.

Iseult raised herself up onto her knees, but she was weak after the last blow her Uncle had given her, and the searing pain that ran through her left side, and turned her head to look at Tristan, gasping for breath, knowing that this was the end for her, and not regretting it. She took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the final blow-which never came. A sudden 'Oomph,' and

"Iseult, Tristan, move!" Iseult looked up and saw Excalibur connecting with Tristan's sabre. Gathering her strength, she stood, then turned to see if Tristan was alright. He was getting to his feet.

"I'll be fine," he said, reading her mind. Iseult nodded, not registering the dark look he had given her, and then looked round the battlefield, and saw, heart in mouth, as a few hundred feet away, that Lancelot was knocked to the floor by her cousin. She felt the blow as if it were her standing there instead of him. She quickly stabbed an incoming Saxon in the heart and ran forwards, only to be confronted by another. She ducked and slashed his unprotected thighs open in one move, sending him to the ground, howling. Then she ran, by the Gods, she ran.

Lancelot threw his opponent to the floor, and his concentration was now directed towards another foe who had attacked him from behind, but as Iseult ran, she could see what was about to happen. Her cousin was picking up a crossbow from underneath a dead Saxon and was winding it up, ready to fire. Iseult slammed an incoming Saxon in the jaw before he had time to attack her properly and ran forwards as her cousin took aim-and fired. She skidded to a halt in front of Lancelot just as he turned round and the arrow entered flesh.

At first she didn't know whether the arrow had hit its intended mark or not; Lancelot's face was so shocked, but when her knees weakened and she collapsed to the ground, she realised Lancelot was untouched. She smiled, let out a short laugh, and blood spilled out of her mouth, blocking her throat so she had to cough to remove it. She placed her hand over her stomach just below her rib-age and pulled it away, crimson blood covering it. Lancelot's shocked face moved away from Iseult and looked up at the perpetrator, who was standing; empty crossbow still aimed at them both, furious that he had hit the wrong person. Lancelot raised his sword high in the air behind him and yelled wildly, throwing it with all his available energy, letting it fly through the air and embed itself in the other man's chest. Iseult lay on her side on the floor and reached behind her, grabbing the end of the arrow. Lancelot saw that even though the sword had hit its mark, the bastard wasn't dead yet. He strode forwards, pulling out his sword and wrestled with the Saxon as the sword inched closer towards his neck. Eventually, the Saxon's arm bucked and the blade sliced through sinew and muscle, killing him instantly.

Iseult cried out as she pulled the arrow from inside her body. She looked at it, pain contorting her face, and was relieved to see that through the blood and lumps of tissue, the head of the arrow was still there. She sighed and lay on her back, closing her eyes, letting the darkness take over. She was dimly aware of the noise of the battle dimming in her ears, then a final voice,

"Iseult, Iseult! Oh, by the Gods, what have you done!"


	7. New Life, New Grudges

Chapter Seven: New life, New Grudges

The sunlight hurt her eyes. Iseult turned her head out of the sunbeam greeting her and blinked open her eyes. Through her blurred and painful vision, she vaguely saw a figure at the end of her bed busy doing something, humming to itself. Behind the figure, a fire burned brightly, causing Iseult to rub at her eyes. She sat up in bed, her vision clearing. The figure turned out to be a young girl- a few years younger than herself-sewing. The girl looked up and gasped, dropping her sewing onto the floor. She got up hurriedly and opened the rooms' door to Iseult's left.

"Please, lie still milady and I'll fetch King Arthur." She ran out of the room. Iseult listened, eyes closed, as the girl ran down a corridor (she presumed) yelling at the top of her lungs,

"My Lord, my Lord, she is awake, the sickness has left her1" Iseult's head swam. She shouldn't have sat up so quickly. _King_ Arthur? Since when had Arthur been _King _of anything? She felt herself beginning to slip out of consciousness, but she forced her eyes open. She slipped the covers of her bed down to her waist and pulled up the loose shirt she was wearing-it looked one of the ones the knights would wear-and stared at the bandages that were wrapped round her stomach. She touched them with a shaking hand and winced as a sharp pain shot through her abdomen. I shouldn't be alive, she thought. The arrow should have killed her, she knew that. But did she? She didn't seem to know anything any more; what had happened to her; where she was; who that girl was; and _King _Arthur?

Voices and footsteps rolled down the corridor. Iseult hurriedly rolled down her top and pulled up the covers and waited. Seconds later, Arthur burst into the room, followed by Galahad and the serving-girl. He rushed to Iseult's side as Galahad stood behind, a wary look on his face. Arthur ran his hand over Iseult's clammy face, feeling for any signs of fever.

"My Lord?" the serving-girl enquired. Arthur spoke without looking at her.

"Fetch him," he answered simply. The girl ran out of the room.

Iseult looked from Arthur to Galahad and back again.

"King?" she whispered. Arthur didn't answer as he felt Iseult's pulse.

"Long story," Galahad said, a bitter edge to his voice. Iseult looked at him, confused. He had never spoken that way to her before. She looked back at Arthur, who was now sitting back from her, his face sullen and guilty. It was then that she realised what he had done.

"You told them, didn't you?" she asked, incredulous. Arthur looked at her, clearly upset, which didn't affect Iseult at all.

"Tristan suspected after your fight with your Uncle. I had to tell them eventually, Iseult." Iseult felt hot tears spring to her eyes, and looked back at Galahad, who was still staring at her bitterly. She pushed back the tears and told him,

"Oh, like I had a choice in my parentage, Galahad." Galahad snorted and walked out of the room, arms folded.

"That is exactly why I didn't want any of you knowing. I knew you they would react like that." Arthur didn't respond, and Iseult knew it was pointless carrying on- Arthur was right and it had been her fault that Tristan found out. In the heat of battle she had forgotten about Tristan being right behind her and within earshot of her and her Uncle. A wave of relief swelled inside her as she realised that he was dead, her cousin was dead, and the Saxons had failed for the second time to occupy this land. Then her mind swiftly moved on to thinking about Tristan lying there on the battlefield, hurt, and the look on Lancelot's face as she saved him from death.

"Then Lancelot and Tristan know and…they…" Arthur sighed.

"I wouldn't know about Lancelot-he seemed hurt- but he is on bed-rest; strict orders from me. Tristan…I wouldn't know either because…Tristan has disappeared." Iseult raised her eyebrows in amusement mixed with confusion.

"Disappeared?"

"A few hours after I told the knights about you, he saddled up his horse and left."

Iseult looked away from Arthur and out through the window where the courtyard was coming alive with people going about their daily business. Tears began to well up in her eyes. She had potentially lost the two men in her life that might possibly care for her. Whereas before she could have been confident in their feelings towards her, now she was questioning whether there had been anything there at all. She had known the reputation of the Sarmatian knights long before she had arrived in this part of Britain, and yet she had let herself be taken in by them. She didn't know what to think anymore; everything was too strange now.

"I feel sick," he said eventually, emotions she usually kept hidden now taking over her mind and body.

"Does your wound hurt?" Arthur asked, worried.

"I-I don't know…I feel numb," she answered bluntly. A knock came at the door. Arthur got up and answered it, talking with whoever was outside in hushed whispers. Arthur occasionally shot a worried look over at Iseult, who was desperately trying to work out who was there. Eventually she could stand it no longer.

"Who is it?" Arthur paused, shot a glance outside, then swung the door wide and let them in. He stood aside to let in a tall, wiry man with black hair and eyes, of about 45 years dressed in furs and dark-blue dyed cloth wrapped up to his torso and fastened with a thick leather belt, black swirls painted across his chest and face. Behind him, a boy of about 15 years scurried in, a nervous look painted on his face hidden by a lock of curly dark blonde hair, a look of shock in his blue eyes as he beheld Iseult. Iseult gasped and sat up in bed as the older shaman bowed and the boy ran forwards and embraced her.

"My sister," he said. "You cannot imagine how good it is to see you." Iseult clutched at his hair in amazement and disbelief and then looked into his eyes, wiping away a tear that was there.

"Gwillam, my little brother, I thought I would never see you again." She held him for a moment longer, but her back had not held her up for so long and could not take the strain so that she fell back and cried out briefly as spasms of pain swept over her. She bit her lip, not allowing herself to show how much it hurt her in front of her brother and the shaman of the Iceni. Her brother stood aghast as he looked upon his beloved sister in so much pain. The shaman moved forwards, pushing her brother to the side. He grabbed Iseult and deftly rolled her over, then began to loosen her bandages.

"We have done all we can for her," Arthur told the shaman. "The arrow head came out when she pulled the shaft out of her and when we brought her back here, we bandaged the wound and applied a poultice to the site, but that was as much as we could do for her." The shaman nodded to show he had been listening. He was now coming to the last layer of bandage which was sticking to Iseult's infected and bruised skin. Iseult tensed up and the shaman stopped for a moment.

"Now is not the time to be brave, my child. After all you have done for the honourable Arthur these past few weeks, revealing your pain now is not a disgrace at all." Iseult whimpered as he lifted the final layer of cloth off her skin. Flesh and dried and still flowing blood stuck to the fibres as he pulled it away, and the wound smelt of rotting meat. The shaman laid the removed bandages on the bed sheets and began to weave his magic to heal the girl.

Outside, Galahad and Gawain were talking, listening to the movements inside Iseult's room. Galahad still had on his face a filthy look that would have easily soured the milk collected that morning.

"Why is Arthur bothering to save her?" Galahad spat at his friend. Gawain, a little more patient, sighed and frowned at him. "What can he gain by saving that Saxon in there?" he questioned again.

"He feels responsible for what happened to her. If it wasn't for her taking that arrow, Lancelot would be dead now. Which would you rather have?" Galahad grunted and scowled in that immature way that he had that negated his beard which made him look years older than he was.

"Still," he replied. "I still don't see why he doesn't just let her die in peace instead of messing around with a lost cause. She'll die before the week's out, I tell you," and he swung round and stormed off down the corridor. Galahad took a last look at the chamber door and mumbled,

"I have a feeling she's stronger than you think, Galahad," before turning and following the younger knight.

Inside, the shaman had finished binding Iseult with a new cloth. As he rolled her onto her side, his hand suddenly held above her stomach. After several moments, he nodded and mumbled something to himself before pulling the covers high round her shoulders.

"We will stay until you are better and you have a scar that you can be proud of. He smiled and then waved a hand over her eyes. "Now…sleep." he said, and Iseult's eyes closed and opened once, then twice, then tiredness overcame her and she fell into a deep sleep. The shaman turned to Arthur.

"I would advise that you keep a guard on her at all times. She should not be let out of your sight lest you want to lose her as we did. She knows how to slip the fastest of nets under your noses, and she is likely to do it again. The three men left her in peace and continued their conversation as they walked down the corridor.

"Why did she disappear the first time?" Arthur asked. The shaman frowned.

"She felt that she was not the one who should lead the tribe when her mother died, though she is the first born. A few of the tribe thought that as she was only half our blood that she had no right, and her brother should take her place." He looked back at Gwillam who was keeping a few paces behind the two men for whom he felt much awe. "Those few knew not that it is not the blood of a person but their mind and heart which make a leader. However, Iseult felt that she should be a burden no longer to her people and left in the middle of the night 3 days after her mother's death. I thought that she might try to leave, so installed the best guards on her hut, but she escaped them somehow. Since then, we have spent over 2 years searching for her. We never thought that she would travel so far north." Arthur nodded and smiled.

"She is an asset to you, I can see that now. I have only seen part of her spirit and devotion on the battlefield and here at the fort and I hope that I can prevent you from losing her again. I will make sure that there is someone in her room at all times of the day and night."

"Thank-you, King Arthur," Gwillam ventured. Arthur smiled and told him.

"Arthur, please. And you are both welcome to stay here as long as you want. I am sure that you will be interested in Guinevere's and my plans for a united country…" he continued as they exited the corridor and entered the great room which held the round table.


	8. Running away from Responsibilities

Chapter Eight: Running Away from your Responsibilities

A week later Iseult was allowed to take short walks inside the barracks, aided by the young serving-girl who stayed in her room day and night, apart from the occasional break when one of the knights would guard her room-usually Gawain or Galahad. Iseult dare not move during move or make a sound when they were there; such was the look on their faces. Consequently, hardly anything was said about the current state of affairs in the fort, and certainly nothing about Lancelot. The little information she had gleaned from the girl by some relative force was that he was still in his room, and spent his time in bed. A few days after she had gained the information, Iseult woke to hear part of a hushed conversation the girl was having with Arthur.

"I had to tell her something, my Lord, she was so upset. Do you not think that we should-?"

"No. I don't want her knowing any more about him at the moment. Lancelot is very-" At this they realised that Iseult had woken up, and the conversation ended there.

This just made Iseult more determined to see him, even if he hated her guts, or if he was seriously ill, she had to know. The next week she spent in her bed gave her time to plan how she would visit Lancelot. Her moment came sooner than she expected.

Iseult woke early suddenly one morning, and, a second after the wave of nausea hit her, he threw up into the chamber pot next to her bed. The serving-girl woke with a start at the sound of her retching. When Iseult had emptied her stomach, the serving-girl left her in the large wooden chair and went to fetch clean sheets from the rooms on the other side of the fort. As Iseult sat in the chair, she suddenly realised that none of the knights were going to come. She had heard them singing drinking songs last night. One hour after dawn was too early for any of them to get up, and knowing the girl, she would spend a good half an hour longer gossiping with the other maids. Iseult pulled herself out of her chair and pulled on a pair of light linen trousers that were folded on the back of the chair and slid out of the room, closing the door silently behind her. She looked round, and luckily recognised the corridor immediately. She now had an hour at most to find Lancelot. 2 doors down was Tristan's room. She sneaked a quick look inside. The fireplace, the chairs, even the covers were unmoved since the last morning things had been perfect between them all. She shut the door quickly and moved to the end of the corridor. She turned left after a moments thought, then counted the doors off: One, two, three…fourth door on the right. Her hand paused on the handle and she took in a deep, shuddering breath. Doubts rushed through her mind. She shouldn't be here. If Lancelot started to yell, that would wake the whole fort up and she would be found. She couldn't have that. She was about to turn away when she heard heavy footsteps coming down the corridor towards her. She quickly opened the door and glided inside, shutting the door silently behind her. Her heart beat fast as the footsteps approached…and passed. She breathed out and closed her eyes, leaning against the door, then realised whose room she was in and quickly turned round.

The light in the room was dim, but Iseult could make out the bed and a figure lying underneath layers of sheets, breathing heavily. Iseult moved closer to the bed so she could see him more clearly. He was asleep; he looked so peaceful, his mouth open ever so slightly so that he had the look of a child about him; a child that knew nothing of death or pain or suffering. But he did, Iseult thought to herself with a sigh. She walked right up to the head of the bed and searched his face. Someone in pain would not sleep like that. She was satisfied that he was well- he would live. Her hand reached over and brushed his face lightly, but not lightly enough, it seemed. Lancelot's eyes flickered open and fixed on her, a look of confusion that turned to one of aversion. Iseult snapped her hand back to her side as though she had been burned. They stood, staring at each other for some time until Iseult decided that she shouldn't stay; Lancelot's feelings were the same as the other knights. She began to move backwards, disappearing into the shadows of the room. All of a sudden Lancelot's arm shot out from under the sheets and grabbed Iseult's arm. Iseult gasped, looking at him with shock, wondering what he wanted.

"No," he said softly. "Stay…for a while at least." Iseult looked anxiously at the door behind her for a moment, then sighed and moved round to the other side of the bed and sat down on it. She kept her head lowered, not wanting to look at Lancelot. She listened to Lancelot's breathing-erratic. Perhaps he wasn't as well as she had initially thought. Maybe an arrow did hit its mark after all.

After a time, she spoke to him.

"Do you hate me?" she asked, her voice shaky so that she half-whispered it. Lancelot looked at Iseult's hair flowing over her shoulders, his face stern, but then he looked away and his face changed, the barrier he had put up melting. When he looked back, Iseult was staring straight at him, her face hurt.

"I don't know," he replied truthfully. "I-" He stopped, unable to continue, not knowing what to say to her. Iseult changed the subject. She had had enough of pain the last few months; she didn't want it to carry on now.

"In bed, how embarrassing for you, Lancelot. What did you do?" she asked him. Lancelot, relieved that he didn't have to carry on the conversation, smiled ruefully.

"Nothing significant." Iseult smiled and shook her head.

"No, it wouldn't be, would it?" she said. Lancelot gave in.

"I got hurt a few times by a sword," Lancelot mumbled. Iseult smiled a satisfied smile.

"Told you. That wasn't so bad, now, was it?" She laughed. Lancelot began to laugh to, but then he suddenly became serious and stared at Iseult with a pained look. She stopped mid-laugh and looked at him, worried.

"I thought you'd be dead by now," he said quietly. Iseult looked away and rubbed an eye.

"So did I…"

"Does it hurt?" he asked concernedly. Iseult raised a hand to her stomach and touched the bandaged wound lightly. The stabs of pain had gone, now, but there was still enough there for her to draw in breath. Lancelot started, but he knew better than to comfort her. Warriors both of them- never show your pain.

"It would have hurt you more," she said after a long wait with Lancelot on tenterhooks. "I wouldn't be talking to you now," she said in a matter-of-fact way. Lancelot smiled and let out a small chuckle.

"I haven't heard that for some time," Iseult mused. "You should do it more often, I've missed that." Lancelot nodded and then looked at her seriously.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked. Iseult raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

"Maybe you'd like to see for yourself how the rest the Sarmatians are treating me…like dirt…" She paused and sat back on the bed, then slid off suddenly and reached for the chamber pot by her side and threw up into it. Lancelot blinked. Iseult moaned and then retched again. When she finally sat up again after wiping her mouth with the hem of her shirt, Lancelot was watching her intently.

"When did that start happening?" he enquired. Iseult failed to pick up on his line of thinking.

"This morning. Nothing significant," she added, a wry smile on her face. Lancelot wondered, then thought it best not to say anything. Things would play out themselves in time.

Footsteps again in the corridor outside. When they had gone, Iseult drew herself up and looked at Lancelot.

"I should go." She walked round to the other side of the bed and brushed her hand against Lancelot's cheek.

"When will you come back?" Lancelot asked as Iseult turned from him.

"I…I'm going to leave soon, Lancelot. For good." Lancelot couldn't believe it.

"You're returning to the Iceni with your brother and that shaman, then?" he asked, hurt. Iseult shook her head.

"No, no I don't want to return there. My brother will do just fine without me. If I returned there I…things would be difficult."

"So every time things get difficult, you run away, is that it?" Lancelot asked, getting angry.

"Don't be like this…Goodbye, Lancelot," Iseult said, and walked out of the room, away from him, and her heart began to tear in two.

She snuck back to her room unnoticed and spent the next week thinking about how to get past the girl and the nights. After constantly throwing up over that week, she began to realise what was happening to her. She couldn't believe it. Now Iseult knew she really had to leave. On the first morning of the next week, she woke, up, ready to throw the contents of her stomach into the bowl by the side of her bed, but nothing happened, her stomach was calm. Iseult looked across at the girl. She was fast asleep on her chin, her head resting on her chest, snoring lightly. Iseult slipped out of bed and dressed in warm clothes, wrapping her sword belt round her. She gathered up her things as best she could without disturbing the girl. Luckily there wasn't much. Iseult took one last look at the girl as she opened the door and then she was gone.

Out in the courtyard, Iseult had to use all her cunning to move past the knights, Arthur, Guinevere and especially Jols, who stayed in the stables for so long Iseult wondered if the girl would wake before she had a real chance of escaping. Finally, he was called by Arthur to attend to something else. Iseult took her chance and saddled up one of the black stallions kept near the end of the stable block. He whinnied at first until Iseult's words calmed him. She waited until the courtyard was as clear of anyone who knew her as possible and the gates were clear. She mounted the horse and moved him slowly out of the stables so as not to draw attention to herself. She was crossing the courtyard when she heard a shout. She turned quickly to see Galahad and the serving-girl, now very much awake, running towards her. Iseult turned back and kicked the stallion hard in the gut, sending him jumping forward into a canter, then a gallop as the gates to the fort shut behind them. They carried on along the dirt road, through the battlefield where the Saxons had been 2 months before, and out into the mountains.


	9. Regrets and Returning

Chapter Nine: Regrets and Returning

Galahad burst into the meeting-room where Arthur was in deep conversation with carious heads of tribes, including Iseult's brother.

"She's gone," he told Arthur sternly. Arthur looked back, unsure of what Galahad was going on about.

"Iseult has just escaped with one of the horses." Galahad elaborated. Gwillam stood up suddenly, knocking his chair onto the floor.

"What?" he exclaimed. "I thought you were watching her!"

"We _were_, but this girl seems to be a heavy sleeper." Galahad said angrily, looking at the girl next to him. Arthur leapt into action, not wanting to waste any time on petty arguments such as this.

"Galahad, collect others for a search party, she won't have got far if we move quickly." Galahad nodded and sped out of the room, followed by Arthur. As he passed the knights chambers, Lancelot stumbled out of his room and limped towards Arthur.

"What's going on?" he asked Arthur.

"Lancelot, you should be in bed," Arthur told his friend, not wanting to tell him.

"It's Iseult, isn't it?" Lancelot asked urgently. Arthur looked at Lancelot with amazement then nodded. Lancelot lowered his head, an uneasy look on his face.

"What? Lancelot tell me," Arthur demanded.

"Before Badon Hill, when you talked with Merlin. Iseult and I…we…we slept together." Arthur raised his head a little and took in a breath. Lancelot continued, more urgency in his voice than before. "She visited me in my room last week and…I think she's pregnant, Arthur." Arthur looked at his friend and sighed, his look unfathomable. He turned and walked into the morning sun now flooding the courtyard. Lancelot stared after him for a moment, considering, then went back into his room and changed, grabbing his swords and limping slightly as he ran into the courtyard, which was now a hive of activity. Galahad was astride his horse, along with Gawain. Gwillam was standing next to them, a terrible scowl on his face. Lancelot strode, as best he could, over to Jols.

"Jols, saddle my horse." Jols looked from Lancelot to Arthur- who was walking up behind Lancelot- and back again.

"Do it!" Lancelot yelled, prompting Jols to go and saddle the horse.

"Lancelot, I'm not going to let you go," Arthur began, placing a hand on his shoulder. Lancelot wheeled on him, shaking the hand off.

"Arthur, please!" Lancelot pleaded loudly. Arthur didn't answer, knowing that he couldn't temper Lancelot's passion at a time like this. Jols brought his horse to him and Lancelot leapt astride, managing to avoid his leg locking as he did so. He turned the horse round and cantered out of the fort behind Galahad and Gawain, the Iceni leader running behind.

They spent the rest of the day searching for her, and the next, and the next. After that, Arthur regretfully could give up no more resources. Lancelot fell into a foul mood, not talking to anyone, striding across the courtyard for hours, sitting in the tavern drinking, or riding out on the hills, but eventually even he gave up hope of ever seeing Iseult again.

Arthur was upset too. He had lost one of his best fighters-his best scout, and had lost the leader of one of the most important and powerful tribes in the south. And they weren't best pleased. Gwillam, of a more passionate disposition than his sister, blamed the loss mainly on Arthur, but also himself. The shaman, however, seemed less worried about the whole affair. When Arthur had asked him about it, the man simply smiled and said, "Time will reveal what may be hidden to us, remember that. We will just have to wait." So the Iceni stayed, and Arthur housed them in one of the unused outbuildings, and seven months later, they were still there.

It was a clear, still morning when Arthur stood on the wall, taking in the view of the country all around them. Behind him, the courtyard was just beginning to wake. He could hear Jols and the stable-hand sweeping out the horses, and Bors yelling at his children for waking him up early again. Arthur took in a deep breath and sighed, eyes surveying the horizon. His eyes locked onto a dark mound moving towards the fort. He watched it for some time, trying to work out who it was. A whistle suddenly sounded from the mound, and from the sky a small dot shot down and landed on the mound, now revealing itself to be a rider and horse.

"Tristan," Arthur breathed, an elated smile crossing his face. He ran down to the gates, ordered them to be opened and ran out to the other side of the wall as Tristan galloped towards him and halted.

"Tristan?" Arthur repeated, disbelieving. "Thank God you have returned. Tristan dismounted and his hawk fluttered her wings a little until her balance returned. Tristan turned and gave what seemed like a smile to Arthur. Arthur stared, talking in his friend's appearance. His clothes were a little dusty, and there were a few more flecks of grey on his beard, but otherwise he remained unchanged. Shouts came from inside the fort as the knights ran out to see who had arrived.

"Tristan?" they all cried apart from Lancelot, who maintained a look of quiet shock on his face.

"Where have you been all this time?" Bors asked.

"I didn't want to hang around while you sorted these tribes out. I went-exploring, you might say. Amazing who you find out there," he mused, eyes turning back to the hills.

"'Who' you find out there?" Galahad asked. "Shouldn't that be 'what'?" Tristan looked at him, a mild smile on his face.

"No, I mean what I said. I saw that Iseult girl a month ago, riding around the mountains. She looked pretty well wrapped up or…she's a bit bigger than the last time I saw her," he chuckled. The knights suddenly went on edge as they looked at Lancelot, whose eyes were clearing as he registered what Tristan had said.

"What did you say?" he asked Tristan urgently. Tristan knew he had been heard the first time.

"Well, didn't you talk to her?" Lancelot asked.

"No, I told you, I didn't want to be found, she didn't see me, so I went in the opposite direction and that was the end of it." Bors turned to Lancelot.

"Oh, come on, Lancelot, you can't still want to find that girl…especially if she's a little..." He gestured to show his point.

"Well, she would be like that, Bors, she's pregnant," Arthur shut his eyes involuntarily and the knights stared, dumbstruck. Tristan, feeding his hawk, suddenly realised as all the pieces came together. He, however, remained inert. Lancelot turned to Arthur.

"I can't let her stay out there, not now that I know where she is. The weather is turning again and she'll be stuck out there alone," he said, impassioned. The knights were, again, shocked at Lancelot's genuine concern over Iseult. He had never been this bothered about a woman before in all the time they had known him. So was Arthur, but he had realised Lancelot's feelings towards her a while back.

"Go." he told him. "We'll come with you. You can't go looking for her on your own. Tristan, you can show us where you last saw her." Tristan nodded.  
"I think that I should come too, or she'll have no-one around who's capable of helping her," came the voice of Guinevere floating up from behind them where she had been standing for some time. Arthur smiled and nodded. Trust Guinevere to be practical in a situation like this. Guinevere smiled back then, when Arthur had his attention directed towards someone else, she shot a glance at Lancelot; hurt, possibly, mixed with loathing. She simply couldn't believe that Lancelot had been that close to that girl.


	10. Why don't you all just leave me Alone?

Chapter Ten: Why don't you all just leave me alone?

The house looked deserted. The knights trotted up to within a safe distance. Lancelot slid off his horse and walked slowly towards the heavy wooden door, one of his swords in hand. Arthur, Tristan and Guinevere followed. The door was ever so slightly ajar. Lancelot pushed it open slowly, sword in his free hand, ready to strike at anything hostile that might be lurking in the shadows. A fire was burning at the opposite end of the large room that he entered, a bed pushed up against the wall near it, a large wooden chair next to it. Lancelot turned round twice in the room, looking for things that might tell him if it was Iseult who was living here. Tristan entered as well, glancing round.

"Well, somebody's living here," he said. Suddenly a shout went up outside. All three ran outside to see what the commotion was.

"Arthur, on the hill," Gawain said, pointing. They all looked up to the ridge of a hill about 300 yards away to see a figure in a heavy hooded cloak clutching something in its hand. It slipped off the hood, and long strands of ash-blonde hair fell around her shoulders and moved in the wind. She dropped whatever she was holding and began to step slowly backwards, disappearing from view.

"Someone, get after her," Arthur said. Galahad acted on the initiative and gave his horse a sharp kick, sending it galloping up the hill after Iseult. Lancelot jumped on his horse and sped after. But there was no need. A few feet away from what she had dropped-a brace of rabbits-on a rock on the other side of the hill sat Iseult, perfectly still and calm. Galahad, arriving before Lancelot, got off his horse and approached her carefully, knowing she wasn't to be trusted. Iseult just stared into the valley beyond them.

"You look…terrible," he said finally, when he was sure she wasn't going to do anything to him. But he had forgotten her acid tongue.

"The Saxon half-breed deserves your pity now, Galahad?" she snapped back. By this time, Lancelot had ridden up and was now sliding down the hill to reach them both. he grabbed Iseult by the shoulders and made some attempt at holding Iseult's gaze, but she refused to.

"Are you alright? Are you hurt? Is everything alright?" he repeated. Iseult showed the barest hint of recognition of Lancelot's concern and stayed silent.

"Iseult?" Lancelot said, now even more worried. "Talk to me." Iseult turned her head to look at him, and Lancelot saw that her eyes were filling with tears.

"Why have you come here, Lancelot?" I thought that we said goodbye. I want to be alone."

"But you're pregnant, Iseult. You can't do this on your own. It's nearly Winter." Iseult smiled and shook her head.

"Well, I won't find out now, will I? I see you brought the rest of the cavalry." She got up. Lancelot and Galahad made to help her, but she shook them off.

"No. I'm not ill; I've managed for the last seven months, and just because you're here doesn't mean I'm suddenly going to rely on you." She turned and walked back up the slope and down the hill. Lancelot swelled with pride at her continued independence, but she still worried him.

Iseult wanted to crawl away. Far, far away into a small dark pit where no-one could find her and she could have this child on her own. She hated all this attention being lavished upon her. She wanted to be equal, live by her own rules, and getting pregnant had ruined that for her. Now she would be treated by the rule, no questions asked. She knew that everyone was watching her every move, checking for pain or possible discomfort. She wanted to scream. She wanted to rail and hit out at Lancelot for being so damned sweet and caring and at Tristan for loving her as well, for spying on her and Lancelot, for knowing that this baby was just as likely to be his as Lancelot's. But she couldn't. There had been no point in running-she ha realised that the moment she saw them all outside her house. All she could do was to wait for the inevitable male worrying. At least Guinevere had a little more common sense…only a little.

When she reached the house, she nodded at the knights in acknowledgement and saw the same worried look on Tristan's face, which amused her no end. He looked so vulnerable without his usual glazed look.

"Hello Arthur," she said jovially. "How are things?" Arthur smiled.

"I'm afraid your family have been causing a little trouble. We managed to leave them at the fort, after some gentle persuasion." Iseult sighed and nodded her head.

"I'm very sorry to disappoint you all, but I am going to do this on my own, whether you like it or not. Sorry." She said the last word with a strong feeling of sarcasm running through it. She moved towards her door.

"You're sure about this?" Iseult turned, shocked. It was Tristan who had spoken. Bors looked at Tristan.

"I've never seen you be interested in pregnant women before, Tristan. They've always been too-"

"-Shut up, Bors," Iseult snapped, and went inside, slamming the door shut behind her.

"-Moody," Bors finished, a look of 'I've seen it all before' etched on his face. Lancelot walked up and knocked on the door.

"Iseult...Iseult? Let someone stay, please. If not me then…Guinevere at least," he finished with some difficulty, not wanting someone else to be with her when he had lost her for seven months already. He wanted to hold her tight and not let go; to protect her from any pain or hurt she might feel. She had suffered too much for him already. She wasn't going to go through what he ha always gathered as torture without him.

After a while, the door opened an inch.

"No, you can stay," Iseult relented. Lancelot gently pushed open the door and walked inside, shutting it behind them both. Bors turned to Arthur.

"Right, better camp, then."

Inside, Iseult turned to Lancelot. He moved forward and held her close to him. She sobbed into his armour; long streams of tears flowing down her cheeks, washing the dust off his chest-plate as all the emotions inside her were given a release. Lancelot hushed her with a soothing voice.

"It's alright now, it's alright. Everything will be fine now; I won't let anything happen to you."

"Oh Lancelot, I'm so scared, I'm so scared!" Iseult wept.

That night, Iseult and Lancelot slept in the house together. She was curled away from him on the bed, head cradled in one of Lancelot's powerful arms. She fell asleep almost instantly, the presence of another body besides hers calming her. Lancelot's other hand was wrapped around Iseult's belly. He buried his face in her long hair and began to hum some indiscernible tune, and as he did so, moving his hand across her stomach, he could feel the baby moving inside of her.


	11. The Arrival

Chapter Eleven: The Arrival

A week later, the knights were still there. Lancelot was riding out on the hills with Gawain, Galahad and Bors. Arthur and Guinevere were lost in their own romantic world, walking in the woods near the house. Iseult was inside the house, sitting in the chair singing softly to herself in some unknown tongue. Or, at least, unknown to Tristan, who walked inside the house and shut the door quietly behind him, listening to the sound of her voice; delicate, sorrowful. She stopped mid-phrase and looked up at Tristan from her chair, and smiled slightly.

"You should sing more often," he told her. Iseult said nothing, looking away from Tristan and instead out of the window at the expanse of grass, reminding her of Lancelot. She began to take up her tune again, humming it this time instead of singing it. Tristan sat down on the bed next to the chair Iseult was in.

"You don't know who the father is, do you?" he asked her. Iseult cut the humming and looked straight at Tristan.

"Direct, aren't you?" she observed. Tristan smiled a little, but he wanted an answer.

"Of course I don't know. I don't keep a record of where and when, contrary to what some people have thought about me in the past. She smiled a little at Tristan, reminding him of his accusation before they had slept together.

"You love him though, don't you?"

"I love you too," Iseult whispered. "Just…in another way." Tristan smiled and chuckled. Iseult sighed.

"Don't be like that. I don't have the energy." She rubbed her eyes and rested her head in her hand. Tristan got off the bed and kneeled next to her. He looked at her half-turned face, then took her free hand and kissed it lightly. Iseult looked at him and smiled, weary. He brushed her face lightly with his hand.

"You'll be fine," he told her. Then he got up and crossed the room and left, leaving her to rest. Iseult watched the door for a while, thinking, wondering, hoping.

A few hours later, Iseult pulled open the door and took a couple of steps outside.

"Guinevere!" she yelled. Guinevere's head appeared from above a grassy hillock. Iseult grabbed her stomach. "If you are intending to be there to help, now might be a good time," she cried. Guinevere leapt up and ran to the house, picking up a small bag from her tent as she did so. Lancelot made to follow her, but Iseult stopped him.

"No. On m own. Guinevere's only there if it goes wrong," she told him sternly, turning painfully and walking inside. Guinevere slowly shut the door, fixing Lancelot with an unfathomable look. Lancelot frowned at leaned against the wall, arms folded. Bors walked forward a couple of steps towards him.

"Come on, Lancelot, best leave them to it." Lancelot grunted in acknowledgement and moved away from the wall and scuffed his way to the edge of the hill and sat down, one ear on the house, listening out for his Iseult. Gawain and Bors exchanged looks ad sighed, then moved away from the house, not wanting to hear any of this, squeamish as they were about such things. Tristan hung around for a moment, but the wanderer in him took over and he decided to ride round the hills with his hawk until it was all over-a few hours, he guessed. Galahad watched Tristan ride away and frowned in thought. A cry issued from the house, and he scuttled away after Bors and Gawain.

When Tristan returned three hours later, it was still going on. Screams were coming from the house thick and fast, and the knights had moved further away so as not to hear, but the cries were becoming louder. Lancelot ha begun pacing the small spot where he had been sitting, becoming more and more frantic, turning the ground beneath him to mud.

"How Lancelot can put up with that racket I don't know," Bors grumbled. Gawain looked at him, amused.

"Bors, that's his child being born in there, and I've seen you much more worried when your own children were being born." Bors conceded and poked at the fire with a stick. Galahad looked up at the house suddenly.

"Have you noticed? It's silent." The other two knights looked up at the house, suddenly interested. Lancelot had stopped pacing and was now about ten feet away from the door, worried. There was silence for another minute, and the knights were almost sure that the worst had happened, when a cry came from inside the house that was unlike the ones before. Like a new born lamb in the field. The knights smiled and looked back at their fire.

"Thank the Gods that's over. I don't know of I could have taken much more if it was that screaming again."

When Lancelot heard the sound he rushed up to the door and burst in. Guinevere had stood up, and turned as Lancelot entered. She smiled faintly at him, and stood back to let him pass as he ran to Iseult's side. She smiled at him, holding a small bundle in her arms, Lancelot stared at the child before him, unable to breathe.

"A son, Lancelot, you have a son," Iseult whispered, tears in her eyes as she held her baby close to her. When Lancelot heaved in a breath finally, his eyes filled with tears and he laughed. The baby squirmed in his mother's arms, screwing up his face and clenching his tiny fists. Iseult looked down at her child with a mixture of wonder and pride. She looked back at Lancelot an smiled, seeing a tear escape his eye and travel down his cheek, staining it. She cupped his face with her free hand and cocked her head slightly.

"Silly. What are you doing that for?" she asked. Lancelot looked at her through shining eyes.

"He's beautiful; you're beautiful. My clever girl." He leaned in and kissed her forehead. Iseult kissed his lips in return.

"I love you, Lancelot," she said. Lancelot pulled back a little, his face registering shock. From her dark corner in the room, Guinevere frowned, wondering what he'd do next. Lancelot looked from Iseult to his son, then back again, and his face relaxed and turned into a smile.

"I love you too," he replied. Guinevere scowled in the corner and strode quietly but forcefully out of the house, shutting the door behind her, unnoticed by Lancelot or Iseult. Outside, the knights looked up from their chores with hidden interest along with Arthur's more obvious curiosity.

"So, what is it?" Gawain asked.

"A boy," Guinevere said flatly before striding past them. Arthur watched stride off, squinting slightly in thought, then his attention was turned back to his horses saddle.

"Good, then we can leave before the bad weather sets in again," Bors said, and turned away.

"Since when was it good weather?" Galahad asked. The knights laughed.

Tristan, however, looked at the house and then turned round to watch Guinevere's disappearing form, then looked back at the house. He nodded, thinking, noting down Guinevere's reaction, and smiled. His hawk screeched in his arm as he walked away from the house. He looked at her, and stoked her head as he walked.

"Oh, don't worry, girl, don't worry. She won't be away for long. You'll see."

The End

Written in 2005


End file.
